CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gary couldn't believe his luck when Oliver Bristow broke into his apartment carrying $200,000 in cash sorted into neat bundles. That meant Gary got to rob the guy in his own living room. Very few victims of a robbery were that considerate. Indeed, for the first time in his life, Gary wondered if there was a God in heaven who loved him and wasn't to blame for his lousy servants on earth. That thought soon expired, but was nice while it lasted.
However, one thing was certain, if the pinstriped idiot had tried to reverse Gary's good luck and recover the money, Gary would have pumped him full of bullets without a sliver of remorse. Gary now owned the money as if he'd sweated for every cent. But Bristow didn't reappear and nobody else tried to claim the dough. That was no surprise. Trewaley must have decided he had much bigger problems to worry about, which was undoubtedly true.
After Gary rearranged Pastor McKenzie's fingers, and while Karen was still on outback assignment, he paid the tax man $15,500 and started looking around Bondi for an apartment to share with her when she returned.
He soon found a nice two-bedroom unit about two hundred metres from the beach. The advertisement claimed it had "genuine ocean glimpses". That was crap. But it was clean and roomy, and had the 10-foot-high ceilings he loved. The rent was steep, but he could afford it for several years, at least. He signed the lease and bought lots of new furniture, though he kept his leather couch because Oscar would murder a new one.
It took the Homicide team out west almost six weeks to catch the killer of Bernice Drummond. He turned out to be an itinerant shearer with a low IQ and an ice addiction. In time-honoured fashion, he boasted about the deed to his mates in a pub and they shopped him to the cops.
Gary had warned Karen on the phone that he had a new apartment. When she arrived back in Sydney, she rushed over to see it.
He opened the front door and saw she looked tanned and fit. He kissed her and said: "How was it out there?"
"Oh, great scenery. Too bad I had to spend so much time with my colleagues. What a bunch of pigs. Nobody ever taught them how to hold a knife and fork, and most can't walk 50 metres without farting or talk for a minute without making a dickhead statement. They were always complaining about their wives who, to be quite frank, must be horrible if they married them."
Gary had heard many variations of that speech. "Did any of them try to get his leg over?"
"Nope, I've convinced them I'm a lesbian, thank God. But don't worry: one day I'll get to do their job appraisals and they'll really find out what I think of them."
After giving Oscar a cuddle, she scouted around, making approving noises.
Finally, he said: "What do you think?"
"It's great, though the listing on the internet said it had water glimpses."
"It does, if you stand on the balcony railing and jump high. You like it anyway?"
"Of course. But can you afford it?"
"Yep. Business has been very good recently." Why mention that was all due to a one-off profit?
"Great."
He shuffled. "So, do you, umm, want to move in here with me?"
A penetrating stare. "Are you serious?"
"Yes, of course - totally."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, very sure."
To his surprise, she nodded enthusiastically. "OK then, I'd love to."
"You're really sure?"
"Yes, I've been waiting for you to ask."
Iron hoops fell off his chest. "Great."
"But you've got to let me pay some of the rent."
"No, I'll pay it. You can contribute in other ways."
A shrug. "We'll sort something out." She grabbed the front of his shirt. "Now, let's see what the bed is like."
The next Sunday morning, just after nine o'clock, he slouched out of the bedroom and sat on the couch. The cat sat beside him and savagely clawed its leather surface. Gary had given up trying to stop it. The couch was doomed. Finally, the cat sat back looking unrepentant.
The Sunday service of the Sunrise Mission was often broadcast on television. He turned on the set and channel surfed until he found it. Pastor McKenzie appeared on the screen, stomping around a stage in a ripped T-shirt, jeans and biker boots, throbbing with potency. His left hand was in a cast and his right hand held a Bible he kept waving above his head.
Gary turned up the volume and listened: "... I want to talk this morning about Angus Trewaley. He had everything: looks, power, money. But he didn't listen to God or his conscience. He took short-cuts. So what happened? He succumbed to temptation and fell into sin. Then he lost his good name and the election. If he had spent more time listening to God and reading the good book, he would be Prime Minister now …"
A voice behind Gary said: "What are you doing?"
He turned and saw Karen, wearing pyjamas. "Watching a church service."
"Why? Have you gone religious?"
Gary muted the TV. "No, I was just channel surfing. But, you know, he's rather good at what he does."
"Yeah, selling shit." She stared at the screen. "What happened to his hand?"
"He must have broken it."
"How?"
"I don't know."
"Well, if you ever join his church, I'll shoot you."
"Please do."
THE END
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